He Thought of her as He Died
by Sarabibliomania
Summary: He thought of her as he e curl of her lip and glint in her eye like weapons to pierce and bond tighter in his chest.Her quick, dart like actions like they were flung from her body with no thought for a goal or purpose but to injure and taunt.


He thought of her as he died.

The curl of her lip and glint in her eye like weapons to pierce and bond tighter in his chest.

Her quick, dart like actions like they were flung from her body with no thought for a goal or purpose but to injure and taunt.

He thought of the way she looked down before she spoke and then up again through her eyelashes. Some saw it as her being shy and others that she thought to flirt. He knew it was a threat to not test her. That no one would believe you if you said that she grew violent.

He thought of them counting down the days until the Reaping, the day they would be eligible with him coming first and hers a year after. How they sat on pins and needles as the speeches were made and the names picked to see if they were chosen and if fate would have together.

If he was chosen alone then he would win. Chosen with her he would make it so she would.

He thought of how they went down to the river between chores to race and skip stones. That she had to win every time or be a sore loser if she didn't.

Don't you dare let me win, Cato she threatened with her gaze down and fists. Don't you dare let me.

He never did. He never had too. She was good enough without his help.

He thought of how after every test she demanded to see his result even though he was a class ahead. And if his was higher she'd try even harder to beat him but wouldn't brag when she did. She'd only smirk like she'd expected it and then maybe encourage me to do better so she'd have a challenge again.

He thought of her coming to school with her hair in braids each day pinned to her head and above her ears to keep out of her face. That she wanted to cut it but her mother like it long and it was the one time she gave in to make her mother happy.

He thought of the day her mother died and she came to school with her eyes red and her braids falling out because she'd done it herself and hadn't known how. That she tried to fix it and grew sad and angry as she couldn't and cut it off in big chunks because her mother wasn't there anymore and now it could be short.

He thought of the only time he found her crying. When she knelt by where the Reaping bowl would be and held her arms to her chest and rocked like I imagined her mother once did. She didn't let me touch her but through violent gasps said she was going to win and prove to them all she could. That she would do it for her family and our district and bury her mother somewhere nicer where she could see the grave from her window and not unmarked in the woods.

Her father didn't want the memory but deep down I knew she did.

He thought of the moment their names were called first her and then him with her proud and assured footsteps to the platform and his slower and more cautious. He'd have to die for her he knew. But she wouldn't like that if he let her. She'd want a fight and to prove she could herself. He knew she could but was scared she couldn't.

They had to shake hands and she stared him down as she did – daring him to say something. He didn't. There was nothing to say.

She was quiet on the train ride. Watching the Districts fly by that they would otherwise never see. They'd never been outside their own. This was the only time they would and the shortness of her life was like a weight on his back. He had a year on her. Now it seemed so much longer.

He thought of the way she mumbled under her breath as their mentor spoke. Repeating his advice but mocking it like she didn't already know how to survive. Like she hadn't done it her own life already and there was nothing he could tell her that she didn't already know.

He thought of the people. Of the buildings and the apartment. The way her eyes went big and she jumped onto her bed with something akin to a laugh but narrowed her eyes when she say him looking. He put up his hands in surrender and she pulled them back down to his sides and told them not to do that again.

We were careers. We don't surrender.

He thought of how she looked in the gladiator guise for the parade. How she lifted her arm above her head and stared down the crowd like she was daring them to underestimate her. To call her small or "just a girl." She'd heard the all her life and we both knew what happened when she heard what she didn't like.

He laughed when he say her in the pink dress with the tulle and lace and she mocked him for his blue suit with the lapels and double breast. He bowed at her with a mock taking of her hand to kiss it and she curtseyed with her eyes down and kicked him hard in the ankle.

He didn't mind the hurt. He was used to it with her now and he never once minded them.

The training and the other tributes, the scores they received with her and him tied and her shoulders stiff and proud then sagging as the girl from District 12 got higher. There was no chance to do it over – to better next time. The only way to beat her was for her to die and he knew she was up for the challenge of it.

The last night before the Games began he sat out on the couches and watched the old Games over and over to try and find a way to let her win. To make it so she was at the end instead of him. Instead of any of them. She out of all of them deserved to win and the knowledge of that was like a separate pain in his chest.

She would hate him if he let her win. But she would be alive to hate him. And he would be okay with that.

Led to their separate tubes, her head high and her fingers fidgety at her sides he tried to tell her something – tell her anything but there was nothing to say and trying to anyway would make it worse. She nodded at him as they went in and again when they came out and the timer was done and they were running.

She was quick. Violent. Darting in and out of the carnage and tributes with her braids flying and her brow furrowed as her knife came down and blood came out and she grinned at him with her breath hard and fast and he had never seen her so beautiful. Let me think this one hundred more times. A thousand. Two. Let her never stop looking that way and he would be content.

He thought of their first night then their second and third. The way he made her go first ahead of him so he could see that she was safe. That she got the food first, the water. First to go to sleep and last to rise because as long as he was watching she was safe. So he never stopped watching. Even when he took his eyes off her he was listening for her, his thoughts quiet to see if she was close by and the hurt in his chest that told him she was okay because he was used to the hurt.

He thought of when he lost her. When she knew the girl would be there – when she left him to get to her and was too fast for him to catch her. And then it was too late. The announcement had been made – there could be two of them and he didn't have to let her win. She didn't have to hate him. But that didn't matter because he'd lost her and it wasn't the Games fault but his.

He knew that she hated to lose. He had loved that about her.

But he had found her again. He had found her too late. Her fingers twisted in the grass and her skull crushed and the dying sound of his name on her lips. She sounded afraid. He had never known her afraid. Angry. Fierce. Once happy. Once sad. But never afraid.

And he couldn't save her.

He knew that she caused him pain. That to have her beside him would hurt and it hurt when she kicked or hit him when they were kids and practicing for those games. When they raced and she pushed him so she'd win or put her arms around his neck to pull him down and under her and crow that she'd won and he didn't care because she was above him and he could see all of her when she stopped long enough for him to notice.

He would give anything for her to move again.

He dragged himself to find the boy – not the girl from District 12 like he thought – but the angry boy who had broken her skull and made it so she lost. She was supposed to win. He was going to make sure she won and then they'd win together. Now they had both lost.

He killed the boy but it hadn't helped. He tore and clawed at the forest and roared until his chest hurt and it hadn't helped. She had always caused him pain. She had always made it hurt and it hurt so much now and there was nothing to take away from that. Not her smirk or her eyes or her movements or her anger.

There was a body now. Not even a grave in the woods but a body. And one he couldn't bury.

There was no one to bury him. Not enough of him to bury when the mutts were done. The tearing and the biting and the snap of bone and spray of blood. He felt it in snatches. In between the thoughts of her and a hundred moments that broke and became smaller and he saw her brow furrowed and her neck muscles tighten and the smirk at her lips and the turn of braid over her shoulder.

She was supposed to win. And he would have lost if it meant she could. So they'd both lost. He looked away and he lost her but he would see her again which meant he'd won.

So he smiled as he died.


End file.
